Unfair Trial
by angelcakes19
Summary: Tired of the infighting and dissension among the ranks, Megatron decides to bring out a secret card to trim the unnecessary mechs staining the Decepticon army; while its CMO wishes unknowingly for a flock and its SIC searches for happiness. Likely to be censored in future chapters- see profile for link. Features Knock Out, the DJD, the Stunticons, Megatron and the Elite Trine.
1. Rumours

_Author's Notes- Hello all, sorry for my absence. My muses have been rather uncooperative. Hope you've all been well.  
_

_Warnings- __Future chapters likely to be censored for sexual and violent- possibly triggering- content (including descriptions of abuse and torture)- see my archiveofourown (link on my profile) account for my unedited works. _

_Pairings- Knock Out/DJD, Knock Out/Stunticons, Knock Out/Breakdown, Megatron/Starscream, Thundercracker/Skywarp, Knock Out/Starscream/Megatron, Knock Out/Starscream and others in the future.  
_

_Disclaimer- I do not own Transformers or its characters. _

_Units of Time:- Astrosecond- 1 second, Klik- 1 minute, Cycle- 1 hour, Orn- 1 day, Decacycle- 1 week, Meta-cycle- 1 month, Solar cycle- 1 year, Vorn- 1 million years. _

_Italics- Flashbacks/thoughts/memories/link speak. _

_Bold- Comm speak. _

_Beta- The wonderful Iwanita.  
_

_All mistakes are my own. _

_Hope you all enjoy it. _

* * *

Unfair Trial

Chapter One- Rumours

The sparklings stared in awe at the fireworks lighting up the sky many miles from their home, the Seeker trio settled together, wings fluttering, on the roof of their shared berthroom. They were brothers by trine, but not by energon, two sold off very shortly after their creation in the hopes of creating the ideal trine under the third who had remained with his creators.

So far, that hope seemed to be well-founded.

Despite the trine-third's blooming resentment that he had been destined to be the bottom of their little family, the trine-second's just contained annoyance with his superior's growing arrogance and his inferior's mischievous nature, and the trine-leader's frustration that the other two simply could not keep up with him as they learned to fly; they seemed to work well under pressure and even had moments where they got along well.

Like tonight, watching the bright oranges and sickly greens burst up into the dark night air. Cooing softly, half in sparkling babble and half in regular Cybertronian, their crimson optics shone with enjoyment and reflected the entertaining bursts of colour. To them, it was one of the most beautiful things they had ever seen.

Which was why, when the trine-leader's carrier flew up and berated them, carrying them down at least a full hour before their regular berthtime, they could not help but whine their disappointment that they had not gotten to watch the end…

* * *

Starscream stormed from the meeting room, wings raised in a well-known sign of aggression. Knock Out was not far behind, cringing at the feeling of Megatron's optics glaring through him at the Seeker's back.

Another day, another row.

This time it was over the disappearance, or so the official story said, of the thin flier's trinemates, and the Decepticon Lord's refusal in retrieving them. Outside the window as the two walked by, the Cybertronian sky burned; the sounds of suffering outside inaudible through the thick, reinforced glass. Amber tinting their frames and temporarily blinding, their pace quickened at the same moment to reach the other side and the sanctuary of darkness once again.

Knock Out sighed to himself, medic's optic roving over the dents and scratches in the deceivingly fragile seeming frame. Why Starscream felt the need to challenge Megatron at every turn and in such a disrespectful manner, the sports car couldn't understand. Raising points of constructive criticism was part of Starscream's responsibilities, yes, but calling their Lord and Master a fool while doing so was hardly wise. As was clearly demonstrated on the flier's frame now.

The fact that Thundercracker and Skywarp had wanted to 'disappear', had in fact volunteered for the mission Megatron had planned, seemed not to register in the Seeker's processor as he had demanded the return of his wingmates immediately and had been ruthlessly denied.

A Decepticon who could not keep hold of their toys did not deserve to have them.

Silence ruled between them as they finally reached the medbay, Starscream stalking over to lay himself out on what most thought of as his berth. Two pools of blood red blinked up at the ceiling, the Seeker's field seething with anger and resentment.

Emotions that Knock Out had felt in the fields of Thundercracker and Skywarp many times as they had stood beside him where he picked up his tools now, wings fluttering as they had watched him work on their third.

The third who always endangered the freedoms and welfare of the trine; a trine-leader who should never have been in charge of them or any other Seekers. Knock Out had overheard that conversation many times from across the shadowy medbay as Starscream had laid in a medically induced coma under his care.

Fists clenching, wishing Breakdown was with him and not with his brothers across the planet, Knock Out once more set to fixing the Air Commander with resources that they should not be sparing with the Autobots breathing down their necks. They held superior firepower and numbers, but that did not mean that the equipment of the medbay should be put to unnecessary use.

Knock Out began to work out the dents in Starscream's armour, several times opening his mouth to begin a conversation, only to be cut off with a dark glare that he dare not challenge. The Seeker energon in him stirred at the thought of how losing trinemates would feel, but as he had never had bonded wingmates the vain mech found it difficult to empathise.

Starscream, once and in a rare calm mood, had told him that while Knock Out was unnatural- all but an abomination of their kind in that he had willingly surrendered his wings and had never flown in a trine- that the reason the medic looked for groups to be a part of (the primary reason why he fit so easily in with the Stunticons and their unique power structure) was that in the absence of a trine, the medic was unconsciously always looking out for a flock to be a part of.

But he and his 'flock' were not bonded, and he knew that Breakdown would always return to him so that one day that status could change when things were more stable, so he still failed to relate to the winged mech's grief.

The thought of being rejected by the Stunticons though was enough to put him off trying as an icy chill ran down his back struts. Anyone else and it wouldn't matter, but they… They were different.

He needed them to feel whole, whether they held part of his spark or not.

"Starscream," the medic murmured as he finished his repairs, breaking through the overly loud beeping of the monitors. "You really must-"

_Take better care of yourself. _The gentle advice was cut off by a vicious slash across the faceplates, energon spurting over the ground as Knock Out's optics went wide in shock. A servo grabbed his throat, cutting off the cry that almost emerged and shoving him backwards onto the medbay berth behind him.

Helm bowed as the medic clutched his faceplate, Knock Out listened to heels clack over the cool, harsh medbay floor and the door swish closed behind raised, trembling wings. Helm tilting to glower after the flier, the sports car was careful to avoid reflective surfaces as he went to his workstation to sit down and quietly repair himself; the few lights that had automatically clicked on as he and Starscream had entered flashing off behind him. Restrictions had been placed recently on such things to conserve energy, and Knock Out had grown used to spending his time in dark rooms as much as he wished he hadn't; missing the sky with a need he was glad was only a small percentage of what a full-energoned Seeker would.

The need was safe and relatively easy to ignore as Knock Out increasingly desired the self-proclaimed 'Lord of the Skies' to be.

Why he consistently put himself on the line for Starscream of all mechs, he didn't know. He had no attraction to the mech, and the Seeker was hardly friendly. How many times had he heard in reprimanding sessions '_it was Knock Out's fault My Lord…'_? How many blemishes were on his record that Starscream had placed there? Well, no more. If not even his trinemates, the mechs supposedly made for him, could stand him then Knock Out failed to see a reason why he should try to either.

If Starscream wished to be alone in this universe, then let him deactivate in kind.

Hatred rose in him before being tamped down, knowing Lord Megatron's feelings about infighting and wishing to avoid trouble so soon after the gladiator's temper had been pricked. He could be patient, and wait to be an audience to the Seeker's inevitable fall from grace.

A moment after that thought entered his processor, he almost regretted it. There had been rumours abroad recently of disappearances- _genuine _disappearances- from their ranks. Those with particularly unsavoury records or who had significantly displeased Megatron in some way had apparently been vanishing from their berths at night, and even reportedly from their shifts in the middle of the day cycle. Knock Out had heard whispers about very unsettling things, and wasn't quite sure now he thought about it if he truly wished what he had heard in the shadows on Starscream or not.

And then he felt it, the top gash across his cheek, the one that had drawn the most energon, and his field darkened.

Yes, he did. He wished so badly for Starscream's arrogance to take a fatal blow; but not the Seeker's spark, the Air Commander was recognised by his programming as a patient and therefore forbade him to truly want the worst of harm to befall the Seeker.

Though he could fantasise a little with no real intent, and couldn't help but indulge himself in daydreams of taking his saw to the flier's own face as he sealed the ugly wound that marred his perfection.

Once done, he laid the tool down and stood from his workstation, stretching out his limbs and sighing softly. His shift had ended a while ago, but… The medic glanced at the pile of reports on his desk. As much as it constricted his spark to admit it, he had nowhere to go that he could escape to, apart from back to his quarters to an even more claustrophobic environment. And to wander the halls meant a risk of running into any member from High Command, and he simply didn't want to face that right then.

Venting quietly, the CMO sat back down and got to work on the most tedious aspect of his rank. Soundwave insisted on thorough reports though and the sports car was in no position to deny him; nor was he motivated to try, the rumoured telepath being the most bearable of the three at the top of the Command chain. Silent and, though a perfectly capable fighter, only violent if _exceptionally _provoked. Though Megatron's rough nature was not a bad thing in the berth, not at all…

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as a whole different kind of fantasy began to take shape in his processors. Relaxing properly back into his chair as a light mood settled into his field, Knock Out signed off on his reports; tutting at one that threatened him for approval for additional medical supplies and laying it to one side. He'd report it in to the TIC later.

Sometimes it was truly laughable how stupid some of their faction were. It was well known that if you were going to break a rule you should leave no concrete evidence- such as a signed datapad- to tie it back to you. Then again, an even bigger rule was to not speak your plans aloud in front of the faction's head communications officer, but Starscream, apparently the resident traitor, did so all the time. And, though he was punished for his attempted coups and disrespectful speech, no permanent harm was ever caused.

Then again, the flier had value others could not equal, and so had some protection. Only the end of the war and that advantage would tell Megatron's true intentions for his rebellious second.

Though there were rumours about the two of them and their 'special relationship' and Knock Out could at times believe them. If one thing was for certain it was that the only mechs to understand that connection were Megatron and Starscream themselves.

Perhaps the Seeker was simply masochistic as more than a few in both factions had derisively snorted.

Though that led to Knock Out briefly wondering that if the Autobots knew what was going on and were supposedly so noble, then why did the majority of them find the situation between the two Decepticon Commanders so amusing?

_Fragging vile hypocrites._

The medic sighed, a puff of warm air from his vents into the cool, sterile medbay. It was an interesting train of thought, but one he at that moment cared very little about. There was nothing he could have done about it anyway, even if he had any inclination to do so. Megatron and Starscream were the ground and the air, unmoveable, unrestrainable and powerful in their own ways, and to try to combat one, let alone get in the middle of both, was decidedly unwise. Knock Out had learned that through personal experience.

Signing off on a report, the medic put it on his steadily growing pile of completed ones beside him. For a moment, he did a double-take, sure that there used to be a couple more there, then shrugged to himself. Perhaps the sports car was more exhausted than he had thought.

Or, as several shadows began to move in the dark corners of the medbay, perhaps not…

Last report finished, Knock Out pulled out a datapad from his subspace and began to write a quick, personal note to Breakdown. Of course he included no truly important private details, simply wanting his missed lover to know that he was thinking of him and their little… family. The CMO would never call what they were a flock, that was ridiculous despite what Starscream thought.

Knock Out had researched into that type of behaviour enough to know it when he saw it. He and the Stunticons were brothers and that was all, the CMO not even truly believing he had enough Seeker coding within him to wish for a flock when he had never felt the need for a trine as all others of the frame type did.

Starscream, learning from his Master, just wanted his subordinate to doubt and feel insecure in himself to keep Knock Out in his place. And the medic was painfully aware of the similarities between his relationship with Starscream, and the Air Commander's interactions with their Lord. The sports car knew there were times when he was only a punching bag in Starscream's processor, someone to take frustration out on when Megatron had done the same to his second. Today was just another incident in a long list, without the usual verbal barb that normally accompanied a slap, slash or even occasionally a punch.

Knock Out's shoulders stiffened, field giving a disgruntled pulse as he thought of the times he'd fixed the flier, only to have to replace him on the medbay berth as soon as Starscream regained his strength and wait for Breakdown to return to repair and pamper him. Not that be objected to the latter, it was the former that ground his gears.

_Ungrateful little cybersnake._

Resting his helm back on the rest of the chair, the CMO's smouldering red optics cycled off, tiredness beginning to flare in his field from the long last few cycles. Surely a light recharge would be alright now his work was done? Curling up on his chair after safely storing Breakdown's datapad in subspace, the sports car gradually slipped offline, still aching faceplates going temporarily lax in relaxation as his engines hummed softly in sleep.

When he opened his optics again, his datapads were gone, with a message from Soundwave in their place to say they had been received. How very strange. The thin mech must have come down to check on Starscream's status; Megatron often sent the TIC down with some excuse if he injured the flier, so he could reassure himself the Air Commander, his valuable asset, was going to be alright without losing face.

It was very… sparkling like behaviour really, not that Knock Out would be so foolish to say it to the Decepticon Lord, or even think it anywhere near Soundwave. But still, the medic wished his Commanders could sit down properly and _talk _to one another properly like mature mechs. It would make things so much easier, and the Autobots wouldn't be able to insult and, worse, _exploit _their lack of effective teamwork.

That's where most of their recent failures lay mainly, the CMO was sure; Megatron and Starscream working spitefully against one another and overriding their other advantages on the field. And the amount of losses they were suffering was on the rise; morale crippling rumours that seemed to hold more truth than most that the Autobots were turning the tide were on the increase, and getting ever louder in the grunt's barracks. Knock Out was glad that he wasn't the one that had to keep the Decepticon High Command together and sufficiently unified to perform its function. Soundwave's job was not one to be envied by any means.

The back strut of the army indeed.

It was worrying the amount of damage the Autobots could do were they simply to take out one deceptively quiet mech. It wouldn't be easy by any means, but it was possible. And the enemy were well aware of that fact; Soundwave in the top three of their unofficial 'Must Assassinate' list from the beginning of the war, and even before that when the Council still retained its influence. But if the Autobots were to capture the possible telepath, that could be even more detrimental were they to extract his knowledge of the Decepticons and their carefully kept secrets, and then destroy him as the more ruthless element of the opposing faction were sure to make sure of; eliminating the danger to their comrades whether it was what their Prime wished or not.

Despite what the Autobots liked to think of themselves, they were more akin to the Decepticons than first appearances might suggest. Perhaps destruction was simply a part of Cybertronian nature. Or, at least, part of much of their race and at differing levels. Breakdown liked to smash things, but hadn't truly been comfortable when the medic had shown him some of his favourite recordings of torture sessions between Decepticon interrogators and Autobot prisoners.

They both liked challenges but in their own way. Breakdown liked an opponent who was at least his equal to get the rush that fighting gave him, and then enjoyed the spoils of getting to kill his adversary when the other was defeated. Knock Out preferred to work more with the processor. Testing it through pushing the limits of the body until both shattered so beautifully under his specialised servos.

A grin grew on his faceplates as he remembered such a pretty little Autobot that Megatron had given him as a reward for his successes on some barely remembered battlefield; one being much the same as any other and seldom worth storing very securely in one's memory banks. Even Breakdown had joined in the play then… It was always fun to share, especially when it was with someone he knew as well as the former Wrecker. They hadn't needed to discuss what they were going to do; an exchanged look between them was always more than enough. And the 'scientific research' they had carried out had given both of them such a wonderful evening.

Despite Breakdown's slight aversion to the use of torture, he certainly got revved up enough when covered in another's energon. The last few drops had barely touched Knock Out's servos before he was grabbed from behind and thrown face down on a nearby medbay berth, their subject's mech blood slick and sticky between them as they had rubbed it all over one another's armour…

Knock Out's valve had been deliciously sore for days afterwards, and the stains and dents that had covered him had been worth the hours it took to right himself again on that rare occasion.

Engines happily purring as he indulged himself in the wonderful memory, Knock Out sighed and stretched, arching his back and pushing his arms out behind him, servos interlocked. As sore circuitry where he had recharged in an odd position unkinked, the sports car moaned softly, optic lids fluttering in mild pleasure.

That was abruptly broken as he was grabbed from behind; a strong servo sealing over his mouth to cut off the medic's surprised cry of panic, thick arm wrapping around most of his lower belly, brushing over the top of his interfacing panel, as the sports car was lifted up to briefly dangle in the air. Knock Out's legs swayed uselessly above his chair as he was brought against a _too hot _surface and squirmed in discomfort.

"You whimper so sweetly," a low voice purred in his audio, dark amusement rich in the mech's tone as Knock Out's servos clutched pleadingly at the arm of the servo keeping him all but silent.

The CMO hated mechs, and femmes for that matter, who did things like this. Humiliated and frightened him with no provocation. It was one of the reasons he had given his wings up and put himself forward to be reformatted into a grounder despite the argument it had caused with Starscream, the Wing Lord of their destroyed home city. He hadn't been able to cope with the stress put on his systems whenever one of his disgruntled patients- no Decepticon took being injured well- played the practical joke on him of tearing his wings right off his back and leaving the CMO in paralysing shock. A type which, no matter how many times it happened, Knock Out's Seeker coding could never adjust to nor allow him to recover from very easily. Of course, his assaulter would always find the sports car's state hilarious; Knock Out inevitably shifting from frozen stiff to writhing in agony as his frame was overwhelmed by his panicked programming.

The reformat had been traumatic but ultimately worth it. His wheel was a target, yes, but not one that overwhelmed him so completely to lose; and a few suddenly severed arms with his saw quickly taught those in the CMO's medbay to behave.

As Shockwave had been known to mutter in what passed in his monotonic voice as exasperation, their mechs could be utter unintelligent brutes.

As the behemoth behind him appeared to be. Normally Knock Out would retaliate quite viciously to being treated like this, but… But he could _feel_ the strength thrumming effortlessly throughout the other's frame, flaunted smugly in how easily the medic was contained. His spark twisted in nervous anticipation as he knew that he couldn't hope to prevent anything his captor had in processor.

This, in the Decepticon ranks, could very well mean the end of the relatively small sports car.

It wouldn't take much for a Decepticon like the one behind Knock Out to make the medic disappear for good with nothing tying him to the matter. They were strangers, the CMO was certain, and rank only had a limited span of protection which itself was affected by the amount of favouritism Megatron granted from one day to another.

Knock Out closed his optics, field flaring briefly in embarrassed frustration as his fists balled against the thicker armour, frame bracing itself instinctively for some kind of blow. Panic pulsed sickeningly, saturating the medic's field to wash over all other emotions, when he was suddenly yanked backwards, legs hitting the top of his chair with two echoing clangs.

The mech spun round and Knock Out was confronted by five shapes outlined in the darkness outside the perimeter of his overhelm desk lamp; the lights in the ceiling stubbornly refusing his internal order to switch on. Shutters flying open once more, the medic blinked harshly several times to try to get his sight to adjust, though he was not sure he really wished them to; anxious as to what he would see as all the recent rumours came crashing down on him...

"Now Helex," a silky voice emerged lyrically from the gloom, Knock Out's spark jumping in answer, "is that any way to be treating our Lord's personal medic?" The voice, though soft and low with more than a hint of humour, held a touch of warning as well. The mix despite the words kept Knock Out's worry running high for a reason he couldn't quite put his digit on; every safe protocol in his systems simply screamed about an unnamed danger and demanded that he run, that he escape…

But he couldn't. Not just because of the firm grip he was being kept in, but because of… _that voice._

Shivering and flinching backwards, Knock Out tried to sort out his confused emotions and to silence his instinctive programming, knowing it was doing no good and likely making him appear even weaker to whoever these mechs were than his physical appearance portrayed. Like Starscream, he was built for speed, not strength, and once caught his entire advantage disappeared apart from that of surprise which sometimes saved him. But that strategy was clearly also gone in this situation in that they had used it against him first, and he doubted he would be able to get past the line of mechs blocking the exit even if he had dared to try to escape by using his saw to attack the one _denting his metal._

Engines giving an upset growl, his servos released 'Helex's' arm and his arms folded, sparkling crimson glaring sideways at the ground.

If they had known the CMO was Megatron's property and had wanted to speak to him, why couldn't they have simply knocked on the medbay door and addressed him? Why had they had to play this demeaning game with him?

Foolish question. They were Decepticons clearly seeking to leave a lasting impression with all these theatrics, wanting Knock Out to be in no doubt of his place with them before they had even spoken a word…

The medic granted them a bit more intelligence than he had initially, unable to deny their plan had worked to satisfy their intentions.

Glower softening slightly, curiosity beginning to push away his annoyance, Knock Out again sought to look at them through the darkness when the lights suddenly flashed on throughout the room, temporarily blinding him and drawing a cry from the sports car's mouth that provoked quiet rumbles from several engines; the reasoning behind them clear…

The yelp ended on a muffled giggle, Knock Out rubbing his optics to soothe them. Sadists,the CMO had been caught by a group of pain lovers. He wondered if they were in a playful mood. If they were, it could end very badly for the CMO, but the thrill of his own excitement at finding others like himself was indisputable.

Knock Out blinked at the distorted, but quickly coming into focus, shapes, and hoped they liked to share. Perhaps if they did, he might be able to play with them sometime, as long as he wasn't the focus of their intentions of course… Which he seemed to be now…

And then he saw them, truly saw them as his servos came down.

His delight died, forming a cold heavy feeling in the bottom of his tanks as mechs right out of even Unicron's nightmares stood before him, and no doubt a similar monster stood, still hidden from proper view, behind him.

No, these were not for playing with, not at all. Breakdown would worry himself into deactivation if he found out his lover had been fooling around with Cybertronians like these. They were… grotesque, but…

But Knock Out's spark thought them honestly beautiful as well, exotic and like nothing he'd ever seen. It was obvious what two of them could do, and the other two he could see he'd wager also had nasty surprises concealed from view. The fifth shadow he had seen appeared to be a beast, standing and panting beside one of their legs, metal slightly brushing.

What in Primus's name could mechs such as these want with him? They were clearly uninjured, but had an obvious interest in him despite that…

This could end very badly indeed.

Without warning, he was released, dropping to the floor but quickly caught once more and pulled against what Knock Out thought to be thick glass. "Sorry little mech," an unapologetic voice on the brink of laughter vibrated through the sports car's frame. "Force of habit."

The arm gave him one more squeeze before finally letting him go altogether, letting Knock Out take a few quick steps away from the far larger mech. The others made an obvious show of surrounding him in a circle, leaving the red mech in the centre with no escape route. Barely given a moment to breathe out, the blind one suddenly draped himself over him, servos running curiously over his frame as the other seemed to want to get a feel for him.

A chill ran down his back strut that he didn't allow to show in his optics as Knock Out got the unsettling feeling he was being sized up for something, and he hoped that it wasn't which way would be the best to put him through the strange mech with an X over his face's middle. The CMO didn't think he'd get out the other side in one piece from the glinting of the blades embedded there.

And he liked his limbs in their proper places thank you very much.

A cold servo, thin and sharp, ran up and down his arm, shavings of paint falling to the floor as the medic tried not to wince, tried to hit the right balance between respect and strength. Whether these were his superiors or not, they had more physical power and easily outnumbered him. That efficiently destroyed any status a higher rank might have given him, and that was if he had it to use in the first place. Looking to the one damaging his paint job, he looked into two bright but icy optics and a plain white face. The eyes, judgemental and cruel, were those of an executioner who didn't care whether his victim was guilty or not. Like an eagle looking at mice, everyone was prey.

With a soft vent, Knock Out looked away from the gaze that dared him to say anything about his cosmetic damage and sought out the embers of then apparent leader's voice. He had that tone (commanding the titan and the CMO's back with ease), that stance, which conveyed him as the one in charge of the group, and would be the one who ultimately decided what, if anything, his mechs did to the medic. Trying to ignore the weight on his slightly bent back and the tingles of warm electricity going through his panelling, Knock Out worked to keep his breathing even.

And would have succeeded were in not for the large servo which clamped down on his shoulder and almost drove the sports car to his knees. The grinder had finally decided to move apparently, tiring of the others getting all the attention. Momentarily glancing up at the sinister grin, Knock Out instinctively glanced away. The servo left shortly after, as did the burden of the crackling mech's weight, and the subordinates of the team almost in sync took a step backwards.

A poet's servo cupped his faceplate, tilted his helm up as soft, commanding music began to play, not lessening in the slightest the oppressiveness the previous almost silence had created; if anything the weight resting on the sports car's spark grew in size. "Now," the mech rumbled, "I'm sure you will be relieved to be informed Commanding Medical Officer that you have passed our test. You retain your rank…" He leaned in closer, stopping Knock Out from pulling away as the grip on his cheek tightened some.

"And your spark."

* * *

_Thanks for reading and please review._


	2. Introductions

_Author's Notes- Hello all, hope you had a lovely new years. This chapter is censored for sexual content. Thank you for reading.  
_

_Warnings- __Some chapters likely to be censored for sexual and violent- possibly triggering- content (including descriptions of abuse and torture)- see my archiveofourown (link on my profile) account for my unedited works. _

_Pairings- Knock Out/DJD, Knock Out/Stunticons, Knock Out/Breakdown, Megatron/Starscream, Thundercracker/Skywarp, Knock Out/Starscream/Megatron, Knock Out/Starscream and others in the future.  
_

_Disclaimer- I do not own Transformers or its characters. _

_Units of Time:- Astrosecond- 1 second, Klik- 1 minute, Cycle- 1 hour, Orn- 1 day, Decacycle- 1 week, Meta-cycle- 1 month, Solar cycle- 1 year, Vorn- 1 million years. _

_Italics- Flashbacks/thoughts/memories/link speak. _

_Bold- Comm speak. _

_Beta- The wonderful Iwanita.  
_

_All mistakes are my own. _

_Hope you all enjoy it. _

* * *

Chapter Two- Introductions

Knock Out jolted awake, the feel of their touches fresh on his frame and venting hard for breath, for calm. Even the best times were linked with bad memory fluxes now it seemed. But there had been good times, _such wonderful times… _

A servo brushed his cheek, distracting him from his thoughts as he turned to smile up at his saviour. "Always here, aren't you?" the medic whispered. "Watching over me. Don't you ever recharge? Even mechs like you need your rest…"

The hand moved; a finger pressing gently against his lips as the sports car was lightly eased back down into the berth, an amused grin following him as he returned to the pillow beneath his helm.

"Fine, fine," Knock Out conceded, acknowledging his need for further rest as his optics slipped closed once more. "But you'll stay… won't you…?"

His stressed systems whirred down again, relishing the mech's indulgence that the others had long denied him.

_Please stay. Please…_

* * *

"And your spark."

The strong voice dripped syrup over his spark, coaxing willing compliance from him without a demand being necessary. Blinking a few times, optics resetting and refocussing a couple of times as the crimson mech tried to regain his bearings, Knock Out stared up at him with slightly quickened breaths. His attempt was shattered though as a deceptively gentle servo cupped his cheek and he was drawn closer.

"This one will do."

It was hypnotic, like being wrapped up in a magician's spell, not that Knock Out believed in any of that nonsense but still... He couldn't deny that whatever ability this mech had, it worked fragging well…

The hand moved to cup his cheek briefly, lightly caressing with a thumb, before catching and tilting his chin up to truly look into the mech's cold orbs.

It was a rare but dangerous blend in their faction; those who were both sane and sadistic. They didn't get bored of their toys as easily as the insane so an accidental death and the resulting freedom the Well offered was unlikely; had both the patience and processing power to create a true masterpiece of agony; and, most frightening of all, were always perfectly conscious of what they were doing to their unfortunate prey.

This mech was one of those, Knock Out could tell.

"What do you-" _mean?_

The servo moved quickly, covering his mouth as a softly spoken, "No," whiplashed lightly in warning over his spark, like a disciplinarian warming up, feeling for the vulnerable sweet spot. Ventilations catching and optics going wide, he stiffened automatically, indignation flaring as dark amusement washed over him from five different fields in a sickeningly strong wave. "It is not your place to question, at least not without permission first, and you have yet to earn that." The mech hummed quietly and a second reprimand struck his spark, the larger's field taking a firm hold of the medic's to demand submission. Optics lightening, though still glimmering with interest, Knock Out's field obediently backed down, masking the lingering resentment there with ease.

When one spent prolonged periods of time with their dear High Command, it was a trick quickly learned.

The ache within him lasted a few uncomfortable moments before fading away as if it was never there, Knock Out's spark feeling a strange emptiness once it was gone, and the medic… nodded. He'd behave himself, if his finish was respected of course.

"Perhaps some training may be necessary," the mech seemed to be rethinking his earlier words as he returned to caressing Knock Out's cheek, "But I believe you'll prove to be adequate."

The medic almost pulled away at that, but didn't particularly want to step back into the waiting arms of any of the mechs behind him, and so reluctantly held still, offended by the larger mech's low view of him.

Pit, even Megatron let him speak. Who did this mech think he was? And how rude of all of them that they hadn't even introduced themselves yet!

Before he could get into an internal rant, relatively gentle servos landed on his shoulders and gave a small squeeze. Looking over his shoulder, Knock Out met empty sockets and couldn't help but blink, though their focus wasn't really on him but the mech before him, it was no less unnerving. But… the field was friendlier than the blind mech's larger teammate's and it was clear he had good control as the electricity buzzing over Tesla coils made no contact with the CMO's cherry armour.

A look was exchanged and Tarn leaned away from Knock Out, arms crossing sternly over his chest in spite of the light indulgence bordering his field.

"I'm Kaon," the mech at his back smiled, resting his chin on his shoulder as he started to guide Knock Out in a circle in place. "This is our leader, Tarn." The medic heard a catch of something in Kaon's voice but before he could identify it, it was gone. Then they were moving again. "This is Tesarus." The mech with the blades embedded in his chest who straightened at a pointed look from his Commander. "Helex." The hot one who had grabbed him and now stared down at him with a smirk. "And Vos." The shadow who had yet to speak.

They stared at him as they were introduced, children with a new toy on Christmas morning.

And then he was back facing 'Tarn' again, at least able to name the monsters surrounding him in his domain but only feeling slightly more secure for 'Kaon's' grip on him.

What was up with their designations? Would it be healthy for him to know?

Kaon sighed softly in his audio, "Stop doing that," he murmured, "You're giving off signals you really shouldn't around with us. Your field is giving you away more than you think." If not for the dead silence in the medbay, the advice would have been private. "Relax a little, you're fine…"

Knock Out blinked, gaze flicking between Kaon and Tarn and back again, before attempting to do as he was told as well as bringing his field even closer than before, feeling the electrical mech's posture gradually loosen a bit against him.

"That's better," Kaon's smile was back, field… _playful?_ as he quirked his helm to glance at Tarn again, and seemed to receive a grudging kind of approval. "Now… would you like to take a walk with us? We have a few things to discuss with you."

* * *

As they left the medbay, the blind mech fell back with his other teammates, his team leader coming up to the front once more to stride beside the sports car as the two were left with the illusion at least of privacy. Tesarus and Helex at the back in a protective position, sandwiching Vos and Kaon, the slightly more vulnerable, but just as valuable, members of their team, between them and their Commander; much like Seekers in formation in the air. Though Knock Out, as he was not one of them or given any true value yet, should have been at the back to make it completely accurate, behind and between Tesarus and Helex to be opposite Tarn at the front.

"Vos told us what happened between Air Commander Starscream and yourself; do you intend to report it?" Tarn suddenly questioned as he looked down on the medic, optics burning.

Knock Out made a hesitant sound, caught unprepared as he glanced away and slowly shook his helm. No, the thought hadn't even crossed his processors. Megatron had his favourites, and Starscream was always higher than him in that list. Reporting the flier would only cause him more finish-threatening annoyance over time, and angering both the Lord of the Decepticons and that of the Skies was never wise. "No, Sir."

The larger mech tutted and Knock Out's spark tensed, but nothing more was said on the matter as they passed other Cons with bowed helms that all but pressed themselves against the wall at their side. Walking down a quiet corridor, Tarn's servo rose and came down to rest on Knock Out's shoulder, as if the larger mech was trying something out. "We have read your files and you seem, barring a few _indiscretions,_" the medic's spark lurched as if yanked forward in its chamber and his stride briefly faltered as he coaxed himself not to purge, "A _useful_ Decepticon." The servo left his shoulder to trail down tingling plating and press firmly against the vain mech's back beneath his wheel; the sickening feeling replaced by a pleasant stroke, Knock Out blinking quickly to clear his abruptly spotted vision. "And your particular _talents_," another warm caress soothed the red mech, "Are intriguing.

You see, our team lacks a medic, and a recent… _confrontation _has indicated that we require one, despite our skills. Lord Megatron has permitted us to make use of your services for a time as a _reward _for our good work." Pride and adoration, tinged with what Knock Out thought to be embarrassment, reverberated through Tarn's tone; optics briefly lightening as the larger mech clearly thought of other things, before darkening again as he returned his attention to the CMO. "It remains to be seen, however, that you would be a good _fit _for us. I do not want the dynamics of my team disturbed by the acceptance of someone… _weak-sparked; _either in terms of coping with our function or their vulnerability to being led astray. And the latter is where your record suggests you might _fail _us, and that would be _unforgiveable…_"

The group stopped as the barely used corridor quickly became absolutely deserted other than them, Knock Out clutching his chest and gasping as his spark heated, sliding helplessly between pleasure and borderline agony, leaning heavily against the other's side to keep himself upright.

"Please…" The plea left his lips without his consent as he was dragged closer against Tarn's chest; the spark charmer hushing him and allowing his spark a few minutes to unwind.

"I want your word Knock Out," Tarn spoke softly, unyielding servo rubbing his metal firmly, ability now used to soothe and calm, though never quite completely. "That you will remain _loyal _and deny the _temptations _I know your spark to have. You gave up the skies for the Cause," there was a hint of praise in the otherwise uncaring voice, "You can give more, can't you? For your own _good _of course… After all, we'd hate for your name to gain a place on our _List _with other _traitors _and _failures, _hmm?"

"List?" Knock Out shivered, remembering those designations he had been told to remove from the medical records recently, despite the tense and no doubt temporary stalemate between the factions in Iacon that had left actual confrontations rare as each side plotted long-term strategies. "You've been… killing other Decepticons?"

It was the wrong thing to say, Tarn's engines giving an affronted growl at the accusation, but Kaon again quietly intervened, sliding past Tesarus who seemed more interested in the shadows he could see moving in the vents above them than the scene playing out in front of him. "Only those that have betrayed us, and disgraced themselves badly enough that they can't ever redeem their worth. It is for the good of Lord Megatron. If you are innocent of wrongdoing, you are safe from punishment, as you are and many others. We are not without processor and can control ourselves. If we could not, we'd be as useless as those we… correct."

The blind mech then backed off again with a final calming stroke to both their fields, which Knock Out answered with a degree of apology in his for both Tarn and Kaon, recognising when to back down. "I have had… bad experiences," he half-muttered, leaning back to look into his supposed superior's optics. "With others attacking me and giving me death threats because they think I am an easy target because of my size and build, and my chosen profession. I did not mean to insult you, but I cannot help but be cautious, for my… own good?" He tried to pacify Tarn with a weak, but hopeful smile that he had not gone too far over the line.

After a few tense moments, the team leader gave a nod, letting Knock Out's spark pulse normally again. That was until, "Leave us," Tarn's focus remained on the medic as he directed an order to his squad that was unsurprisingly quickly obeyed so that the pair was alone, the larger coming down to the medic's level as the pedesteps faded away. "A mech such as you has much to fear in our faction," his tone brooks no argument, "Despite your reputation, you do better when your _subjects _are already strapped down than when you have to do the catching and binding yourself. You require both _protection_ and assistance to _survive_ which I know our Lord grants you because your skills are necessary, but… you are frightened of the retaliation that may come from reporting those who are a _danger _to you, and I'm sure you have no wish to bother our _Master _with tedious matters. Perhaps then we could form a _mutually beneficial _arrangement, yes?"

Knock Out could only nod, optics dull, caught in the spell.

"You come with us and tend to us as necessary, and I trust with strict confidentiality?" Tarn barely waited for a second bob of the helm, "And we protect you from the harm you are unwilling to disturb Lord Megatron with, and allow us to train you into becoming a stronger Decepticon; one more likely to avoid being added to the List than you currently are. Other terms can be _negotiated _later, but for now…" He rested his helm on Knock Out's, field saturating the medic's with a heavy dominance, "Do we have a deal, little one?"

The medic might have balked at the demeaning nickname had it not been for the almost suffocating influence Tarn was holding over him with such ease, a power that made denial impossible. "Yes, Sir, but I need… I need to be able to question. If I don't know what's going on, I cannot adequately prepare to take care of you…"

"Then you will be told what I deem necessary, and perhaps if you prove trustworthy, I may grant you more with time if I see fit to." Tarn rubbed Knock Out's cheek, smugness bordering his field, and the medic knew somehow that this round had not been a draw but a loss on his part.

Whether he wanted to or not, he was playing Tarn's game.

"Then… yes, we have a deal," the sports car conceded.

But, unlike with most Decepticons, there was an upside to submitting to the breath stealing mech that the medic would quickly learn. Turning Knock Out to face the route his subordinates had taken, the larger mech guided him after them. "We are still quite unknown in the ranks," Tarn's voice was like treacle down his back strut, "But we have found our reputation to be growing rapidly despite not many knowing what to call us. We are the Decepticon _Justice_ Division, named to commemorate the first five cities of Cybertron our faction conquered, and we _hunt _those who have transgressed against our Master and punish them accordingly. We have been told we require a _medic_," the word was jarringly spoken, a high note in a low-pitched symphony that clearly did not belong, "Because some recently added List members have been predicted to cause us a challenge when we catch up with them, and as we have had minor damage in the past. It is a prudent course of action to enlist someone like you for emergencies, but you must not allow yourself to be injured. Vos has minor medical skills, but his strength is in other sciences. If you are severely damaged while with us, then it is a strong possibility that you may deactivate before we can reach assistance for you. Though… I suppose you are welcome to watch the crescendo of our chases. I'm sure you will learn some _valuable lessons _from them."

Knock Out couldn't help but think that Tarn reminded him of Starscream, though with a far more pleasant voice to listen to. The larger mech clearly liked to hear himself talk under the guise of giving him useful information. Nodding along silently but not checking his nails or something of the kind as he listened as he would with the SIC, paying more attention to the DJD's leader than the flier as he was somewhat interested in what Tarn had to say.

That, and Tarn could do him a lot more damage than Starscream ever could with those large, strong servos…

_Hmmm… Those weren't bad, not at all._

Tarn suddenly halted, gaze having caught the appreciative glance Knock Out had given him, a smirk becoming visible in orbs that reminded the CMO of when Praxus had gone up in flames quite some time ago now.

A look was exchanged and an entirely new song started in Tarn's voice as he resumed speaking, describing the various functions of the group. Tarn, the leader and the tank with weaponized conversation at his disposal for an execution technique. Kaon, the List Keeper, communications officer and electric chair, with a pet, half-tamed sparkeater. Vos, the scientist and sniper rifle, Knock Out's likely choice of nurse in emergencies, with a very unique face mask. Tesarus, the walking grinder and one half of the backbone of the DJD's muscle. Helex, the living smelter, and Tesarus's other half.

Back in the medbay, as Soundwave's twins reported how the first meeting between the DJD and Knock Out had played out, Tarn and the sports car found themselves alone, the door clicking locked behind them as the CMO found himself swept off his pedes and taken through to his own quarters with a gasp of surprise.

* * *

**Censored- see archiveofourown for the missing scene.**_  
_

* * *

When Knock Out awoke, bleary optic-ed a couple of hours later, he was sprawled over Tarn's chest, the rest of the DJD bearing down on him with matching grins.

"Ours now?" Kaon purred, electricity buzzing between coils.

"Ours," Tarn answered firmly before Knock Out could, grip tightening around the medic's small, self-repairing frame.

And the medic couldn't argue otherwise despite worrying what his brothers, what _Breakdown_, would think, slipping easily, helplessly back into recharge as Tarn hummed a gentle melody in his audio.

Thoroughly claimed and wondering what the frag had happened, and if he had not just lost a round but the whole game already…

And had that been what he had wanted from the beginning?

* * *

Knock Out's servo was given a reassuring squeeze, a warm field blanketing him, as he recharged; the mech above him ever watching and waiting for the right time. And now it had come, he hoped that the gamble he was taking was going to pay off…

* * *

_Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it._


End file.
